


Hyperbole

by elevenoclock



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-26
Updated: 2011-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-20 17:53:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elevenoclock/pseuds/elevenoclock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never, ever, give your phone number to your mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hyperbole

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Session 3, Round 3 of The New Pub. The theme was "Literature", and this piece was written in 20 minutes for the prompt "Hyperbole". Join us every Saturday afternoon at http://thenewpub.livejournal.com!
> 
> hyperbole: the use of exaggeration as a rhetorical device or figure of speech

[Original Link](http://thenewpub.livejournal.com/5577.html)

When you're a spy, you tend to keep on the down-low. You don't carry a cell phone, unless it's a disposable, pay-as-you-go one. You don't check email, or blog, or keep a subscription to the local newspaper. You tend to limit your connection to the outside world to your handler and maybe a handful of contacts.

And you never, ever, give your phone number to your mother.

"Michael. It's an emergency."

Michael's heard those four words about a hundred times since waking up in Miami. It never fails to make him feel a moment of panic, followed by a deep sense of exasperation.

"What's it now, mom?" The apartment is empty, Fiona on a recon mission and Sam with his newest lady friend. Michael tucks the phone against his shoulder and bends down in front of the fridge, looking for a blueberry yogurt.

Madeline sighs into the phone, and the sound of a cigarette being lit can be heard through the tinny connection. "It's my neighbor three houses down," she says. "Last night there was a dark van parked in front of her house. This morning, she's gone. I think they kidnapped her, Michael!"

There's only peach yogurt, which is a travesty and never fails to put Michael in a bad mood. He's not even sure why Sam buys it, because none of them will willingly eat it. "How do you even know she's not just sleeping in?" he asks. "It's only..." a glance at his watch, "half past eight. In the morning. On a Sunday."

"I just know!" His mother has more conviction than a Somali war lord who's convinced that the man in front of him is a spy. "At least come by, Michael." She pauses, then adds, "I'll make pancakes."

Michael straightens, surprised and confused. Pancakes? It only takes him a moment to put the clues together. "Yeah, alright mom," he finally says. "I'll come over."

His mother is clearly thrilled. "Oh, thank you Michael," she begins.

"But mom," Michael says, cutting her off. "Next time, you don't need to come up with an emergency to get me over for Sunday breakfast... just ask, okay?"

He hangs up before his mother can say anything else, and sticks the yogurt back in the fridge, untouched. He usually avoids being around his family, years of overseas black-ops and lack of communication only reinforcing that, but he's never been able to turn down his mother when she really wants something. And pancakes beat peach yogurt any day.


End file.
